


Within You, Without You

by alba17



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obedience, Public Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/pseuds/alba17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q becomes obsessed with watching Bond have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Within You, Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Perverse Bang 2013 for [this prompt](http://perverse-bang.livejournal.com/939.html?thread=69291#t69291%0A). I thought this prompt was so perfect for Q. I interpreted it somewhat loosely. Thanks to my beta, significantowl, whom I should have given more time. All failings are mine. Title is from the Beatles song.

Eve threw her head back onto the cinderblocks and gasped as Bond fucked her up against the wall. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and their hips ground against each other. The storage warehouse was cold and inhospitable, but it had the advantage of being completely deserted. A long night of surveillance outside had yielded nothing regarding the diamond smuggling operation they were investigating. They’d fruitlessly snooped inside the building for awhile before giving in to the impulse to relieve the tension that had built up between them during the night. As the last pulses of his orgasm faded, Bond felt much better. He had a vague awareness that there must be surveillance cameras set up for MI6’s operation, but he was focused on Eve’s delicate beauty and the tightness of her thighs clamped around his waist. He held her cheek and kissed her gently.

 

Q’s cup of tea grew cold as he stared at his monitor. He’d been freshening his video feeds of the warehouse operation when he’d come across Bond and Eve having sex, openly and blatantly, up against the wall in the hallway. He leaned forward in his chair, peering at the monitor more closely. Eve’s long legs were wrapped around Bond’s waist as he rocked into her with an unmistakable rhythm. Her skirt was rucked up to reveal the line of her thigh from knee to hip. They appeared as one organism, lips locked, heads shifting as the kiss progressed. Bond’s trousers were puddled at his ankles and his arse was bare.

Q held his breath and, as if it had a will of its own, his finger clicked the keyboard to zoom in. He shouldn’t be looking at this but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He examined Bond closely, mesmerised by the thrusting of his hips, the muscles contracting in his buttocks. Eve’s hands clutched the back of Bond’s jacket. Her eyes were closed. Q could only see the back of Bond’s closely cropped head.

He heard footsteps behind him. Someone was approaching his desk. He quickly minimized the window and pulled away from the monitor, rolling his chair a few feet away. His face flushed hot with shame and fear that someone would see what he’d been looking at. On the other hand, he wasn’t the one having sex in front of an MI6 camera.

“Q, I’ve got those files you asked for, the ones on the Nice operation?” Tanner said, looking up from the files in his hand. His expression betrayed no sign that he’d seen the scene from the warehouse on Q’s monitor.

“Oh yes? Good.” He took the papers Tanner held out. “Thank you.”

Tanner nodded and gave him a little smile. “Glad to be of service, quartermaster.” 

Holding himself perfectly still, Q watched Tanner turn around and leave the way he’d come. He looked blindly at the files Tanner had given him, threw them down on the desk, and tried to calm his racing heart. 

Ignoring his qualms, he turned back to the monitor and maximized the feed from the warehouse. Eve and Bond had straightened up their clothes to look presentable and were standing in a loose embrace. Bond put a hand on her cheek and pressed his mouth to hers in a slow, tender kiss. Q zoomed in more closely, shocked at the moment of intimacy. Unable to look away, he watched until they walked out of camera range down the grey hallway. Q’s body was on fire. His fingers trembled as he clicked through the other feeds he needed to check. 

Bond and Eve: he felt like he should know about them and it irritated him. He also felt guilty about watching them. But he couldn’t really be blamed, could he, not when two such attractive people were performing so openly for the camera. What was that all about anyway? He had no idea they were both such exhibitionists. It was exciting, in a weird way.

He spent so much time pondering what he’d seen that the rest of his shift sped by like a high-speed train.

Q and Eve were friendly, but he’d never become very close to Bond. His reputation at MI6 was legendary. Whenever he graced Q Section with his presence, the air was abuzz with excitement, everyone whispering at their desks, darting glances in Bond’s direction and quizzing Q in detail about him afterwards: what’s he like? Where does he get his suits? Is true what they say about him? Bond always looked impeccable, his suits fitting him perfectly, their creases always knife-sharp, the kerchief in his pocket always just so. Even Q had secretly admired the stretch of his jacket across his broad shoulders, his rough-hewn yet handsome face. The man was definitely sexy and Q had imagined on occasion that their banter edged into flirtation, which led him to some dangerous fantasies.

Now this. 

The secret liaison with Eve displayed a side of Bond of which Q hadn’t been aware. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Bond so loose and casual, so passionate. He was always the hardened secret agent, gritting his teeth and sloughing off bullet wounds as if they were nothing. 

One time Q happened upon Bond in the firing range, and his observations on that day epitomised how he thought of Bond. Every MI6 employee had to qualify at the range and Q got a certain satisfaction from perfecting his skills in this area. He admired competence of any sort and he hated being less than stellar at any endeavour. Q had been checking in as Bond was finishing up. Q watched him through the plate glass window that looked out on the firing range. Bond’s ice blue eyes had been focused and intent, his face impassive, the flat planes of his cheekbones rigidly still. When he pulled the shot, his face and body barely reacted to the gun’s kickback. As always, he carried out the task at hand with cool efficiency, evincing the barest minimum of human reaction.

Q had always imagined that Bond carried out his love affairs in a similar fashion, bloodless and clinical.

And yet he was capable of passion, apparently. At the warehouse with Eve, his movements were loving and passionate. Q was impressed with the tender care with which he kissed Moneypenny at the end of their liaison. This was not the calm, collected secret agent who could kill with barely a lifted brow. There had always been stories of Bond’s affairs with women, so perhaps this was a side that he only showed in that context. 

Q wanted to see it more. He couldn’t help wondering what Bond’s face had looked like as he fucked Eve. He wanted to see the passion in his expressions, not just the flexing of his back and buttocks. What would make those ice blue eyes turn warm and molten?

He tried to forget what he’d seen but he couldn’t erase it from his mind. Every time Eve brought him something from M, or they went out for a drink after work, he saw her encounter with Bond again, in black and white images as if they were characters in a film and not the colleagues about whose sex lives he should know nothing. He found himself avoiding her, visiting the toilet when he knew she’d be coming by Q Section. He was embarrassed about this, and he felt childish, but it was impossible to deal with her while he was in the grips of what was rapidly becoming an obsession. 

As for Bond, Q directed him over the comms once or twice while he was out on his next mission. It was certainly easier than seeing him in person. Speaking to Bond over the comm, directly into his ear while looking at him on the monitor, however, seemed much more intimate now, due to what Q had seen at the warehouse. Bond’s low, quiet voice sent sparks up Q’s spine, distracting him from his job in a disconcerting manner. It seemed there was nothing that didn’t remind him of Bond and Eve’s coupling.

It was always there, hovering in his thoughts: Bond working his hips, thrusting into Eve pinned against the wall, her head thrown back in pleasure. It weaseled its way into his fantasies, rising up unbidden as he lay in bed at night, trying to get to sleep. It was becoming a curse that needed to be exorcised.

If he just gave in once, perhaps it would go away. So he let the image bloom in his mind, seeing the light head and the dark in their lustful dance, the unmistakable motion of Bond’s body. It rushed like lightning to his groin, making his cock grow and thicken. He let his eye drag over his memory of Bond’s form, the broad shoulders, the slim hips, the bare arse with its toned muscles contracting with every thrust. Q’s hand gripped his erect cock. He imagined the sounds Eve made, the gasps of her breath. Up and down his hand rubbed - how would it feel to have Bond’s cock pushing inside of you - what would Bond’s face look like in orgasm? Q’s breath quickened with the motion of his hand and very soon he came in a delicious pulse of feeling, a stronger orgasm than he’d had in a long time. He was drained to the core and sublimely satisfied. Yet shame washed over him. As he fell into sleep, it occurred to him that, instead of exorcising his obsession, he might have made it worse.

 

“Seen 007 yet?” Q asked Eve as she approached his desk. Bond had returned from his mission with barely a scratch on his head, leaving a trail of dead terrorists in his wake.

“Tanner said he headed straight to M’s office.” Eve picked up Q’s mug and took a sip. She made a face. “How can you drink that?”

Q grinned at her. “I drink it that way to keep people like you from stealing it.” He grabbed the mug from her hands. 

“Black tea is foul,” she replied with a sour face. “Plenty of milk and sugar for me, thank you very much.”

Q’s skin felt tight in her presence. His fingers itched to get back to perfecting the surveillance system he’d been working on, not for MI6, but for himself, to capture Bond and Eve on camera again and get rid of this distraction once and for all. He’d taken time from his work duties to observe their comings and goings, their habits and daily routines. Then he made his plans.

He knew he was being ridiculous, but he had to reclaim his mind. This obsession was taking over every waking thought, and even some of his dreams. Dreams where Bond pressed into him, surrounding him with muscular arms; where Eve’s beautiful mouth and eyes turned toward his and welcomed his kiss. It was driving him mad.

Since childhood, he’d been keen on watching people. Before the age of ten, he’d installed surveillance cameras in his own bedroom because he couldn’t bear the thought of someone invading his personal territory without his knowledge. He had lived this way for so long, it seemed normal to him. It was part of the way he viewed the world, this tendency to filter reality through the camera lens, to put it at a remove. Given his predilections, he supposed it was natural that he’d gone into espionage.

So devising a system to catch Eve and Bond again was just the sort of challenge that inspired him. He was quite motivated. He told himself he just needed one more glimpse of their passion, one more chance to see that side of Bond and that would get it out of his system. The design of the system focused and diverted his obsession, so he was able to concentrate more fully on work.

Now it was almost complete. 

“You must be looking forward to seeing 007,” Q murmured over the top of his mug. She’d left coral lipstick marks on the edge. He carefully placed his mouth on the very same spot. He could even smell the slightly floral perfume of her lipstick. She must have recently re-applied it.

Eve frowned at him. “I suppose. No more than usual. Why do you say that?”

Q gathered himself. “Oh, no reason. I just thought you two had been spending time together recently, no?”

Eve’s eyes darted away as she spoke. “Not really.”

Q grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Not pining away for the great secret agent?”

“That’s you, darling.” Eve kicked him with her stiletto heel.

“Ow!” He rubbed his shin. “That hurt. And I am not.”

She turned on that same stiletto heel and gave him a flirtatious glance. “We’ll see,” she said, before strutting away. 

 

Bond had spotted the young man right away, at the end of the bar. He was drinking something in a martini glass, one of those fake martinis with brightly-coloured liqueur, not the real thing. As Bond gave his precise order to the bartender, making sure he understood what was required, the young man caught his eye, then quickly looked away. Bond leaned back easily on the barstool, his hand spread on the bar. He studied the young man with curly dark hair. Bond observed that his movements were controlled, yet languid, like a dancer’s, with a slim and elegant body, a long neck and dark colouring. He was alone.

The mission had been difficult and Bond needed to unwind. He was looking for a distraction, someone in whom to lose himself for a few hours of uncomplicated sex. This young man looked like a decent prospect.

When Bond had his martini in hand, he captured the man’s gaze again - quite easily - and raised his glass. It took but a few moments before the man moved to the seat next to Bond and they were chatting and trading heated glances.

 

Q recognised Bond’s scrubby light hair, but the dark one this time was new. It wasn’t Eve. Not by a long shot. 

Q had finalised his system and had been sitting in front of his home computer for an hour nursing a lager when the pair of figures appeared on the feed from Bond’s bedroom. It was Saturday night and Q had put off work until tomorrow, figuring that Saturday was his best chance to catch Bond and Eve in the act. He was not at all proud of installing the camera in Bond’s bedroom. It had been a difficult process involving disguises and other low deceptions. But he was in the throes of an obsession and couldn’t be bothered with the high moral ground until he’d thrown off its shackles.

For a moment he felt disgruntled on Eve’s behalf that Bond had so quickly moved on to another partner. He had no idea what sort of relationship Bond and Eve had, however, so perhaps this was a completely normal occurrence and Eve wouldn’t mind at all. 

Q was quickly absorbed in watching the two men. The tingle shooting up his spine indicated that it wasn’t just Eve and Bond together who obsessed him. It was Bond and _anyone_ else. Bond slowly stripped the other man of his jacket and shirt, then quickly moved into the young man’s space. They fell on the bed, grappling and kissing. 

The younger man was slimmer and taller than Bond, his hair a mop of dark curls. Q stiffened with interest as he noted that the young man’s skin was darker than Q’s, but otherwise they looked similar. Bond shucked his own shirt and trousers so he was clad only his briefs. Q gulped down his drink, feeling a rush of heat and confusion.

Q had no idea Bond was interested in men. He’d always seemed so assertively heterosexual. But he exuded such raw sexuality, it wasn’t surprising he had enough to spare for a variety of entanglements. To see him involved with a man, and one who looked like Q, was unnerving.

Bond was now lying on top of the younger man, nuzzling his nipples and lavishing attention on his bare stomach. Q could feel his breath coming faster and his trousers getting tighter. It felt wrong. But he couldn’t help it. And why else had he gone to so much trouble? It was well past time to feel guilty about what he’d done. He took another drink of lager to wet his dry mouth.

Now Bond was working his way lower, exploring the man’s lower abdomen. Of its own accord, Q’s hand moved between his legs, hovering there, just an inch from his body, his arm resting on his lower torso. He wasn’t going to do anything; he wasn’t. But his heart was a piston in his chest and warmth pooled in his groin as he watched the scene unfold on the monitor. 

Bond’s hands grasped the waistband of the younger man’s jeans. The two shared a look, and the younger man grinned back at Bond, who said something that made the other chuckle. The young man’s hand went to Bond’s head, curled around it and raked through the brushy field of his hair.

Q wanted badly to be on the receiving end of that look from Bond. He wanted to hear Bond’s low murmuring as he bent over Q’s naked chest and pulled down his trousers to reveal his aching cock. Q’s hand inched closer to the prodigious swelling trapped in his trousers as he watched Bond drag the other man’s jeans down and toss them aside like a candy wrapper before lowering his head to play at the man’s erection, still covered by his underwear. He wore plain white briefs. They glowed against his olive skin like a white flag of surrender.

Bond mouthed the other man’s cock, wetting the thin cotton fabric and leaving a darkened trail. His large, capable hands gripped the man’s hips, reminding Q of Bond’s hand wrapped around the handle of his gun at the firing range, his cold determination. Now his eyes were closed in concentration of a different sort, arousal evident in his flushed face. 

Q’s hand moved up to his own cock and pressed. He groaned. 

The young man lifted his hips to Bond’s mouth, impatient. Bond raised his head and smirked, then quickly dispatched the underwear as efficiently as he had the jeans, all the time holding the younger man’s gaze. The briefs landed on top of the jeans in a pile on the floor.

Q’s cock stiffened and swelled even more. Bond walked up the other man’s body on outstretched arms to deposit a kiss on his lips, his hand sinking into the dark curls. His mouth open in a rapt daze, Q fingered the ends of his own hair. The two men on the screen ground their hips together and the younger one grappled with Bond’s waistband, shoving his hands under the back of it to grip Bond’s arse. 

Q popped open his flies to grab his naked cock and stroke himself freely, succumbing helplessly to his desire and practically groaning with relief. When Bond took off his own briefs, revealing muscles sculpted of marble, that almost ended it right there. If he’d had any thought of stopping this whole charade now, it fled instantaneously upon seeing what Bond had under those fine Saville Row suits. Q was glued to the monitor like cement.

It went on for quite a bit longer, the two men on the screen taking turns pleasuring each other with their mouths. Q came twice. By the end, he felt wrung out, disgusted with himself and yet more excited than he’d ever been. Why had he never thought of doing this before, in all the years he’d been spying on people? 

He watched until the younger man left and Bond was alone. Bond lay back on the bed, his arm over his forehead. Q continued to watch, looking at his naked body and wondering if this was the real Bond, or yet another mask. Was this a man he was emotionally involved with or was it just a one-night stand? What did it mean that he looked like Q? The questions were overwhelming. Yet again shame licked through Q. But he’d gone too far. He’d pried open the box of Bond’s private life and what he’d seen wouldn’t fit back in, like the ingredients for a recipe whose outcome had yet to be determined.

Bond got up and went to the toilet. Q did the same, his mind a tangle of contradictory emotions.

 

Bond discovered the camera during one of his periodic sweeps of the flat for surveillance devices. He looked at it curiously. No visible markings, nothing to trace the person who’d installed it. It was a device broadly in use by MI6; nothing foreign about it, except there was one thing that made him pause: a blue ring around the tiny lens. Something clicked over in his mind. 

Q. He couldn’t say exactly how he knew, but he did. Call it spy’s intuition. Bond had a moment of paranoia. Q had been avoiding him recently. Did he have a secret brief to investigate Bond? When they ran into each other, Q had seemed strangely flustered, not his usual self-contained self.

Bond was determined to find out what was going on. He decided to leave the camera where it was and see what knowledge Q might unwittingly reveal about Bond’s life. Q didn’t have the field agent’s facility with deception, after all. He was used to dealing with things at a remove, through a computer or a wire, not the messy business of people. Bond had an idea of what might unsettle the usually unflappable quartermaster.

 

“Good afternoon, Quartermaster,” Bond said, sidling up to Q’s desk. “What have you got for me today? I’m about to go on that mission to Barcelona and I’ll be up against Negron. Don’t want to be caught wrong-footed.”

Q glanced up, then quickly back to his monitor, inscrutable. “I’m aware, 007,” he said curtly, adjusting his glasses. He continued to type on his keyboard, then rolled his chair over to a nearby table laden with gadgets and weapons. “Never fear. We’d hardly send you out against Negron without suitable gear.” He handed Bond a pair of what appeared to be ordinary sunglasses. Bond purposely let their hands brush together as he took them. He was pleased to see Q’s eyes darting away as he explained how to run the gadget, which contained a tiny computer embedded in the lens.

Bond caught and held Q’s gaze as he took the sunglasses. “Ingenious. Really. You’ve outdone yourself this time, Q.” 

“All part of a day’s work.” Q busied himself with ludicrously tall pile of papers on his desk. 

“Really, Q, I’m surprised you still use paper. Haven’t you got all our files digitised by now?” Bond kept a close eye on Q’s reaction. He wasn’t giving much away beyond a tendency to avoid Bond’s eyes. 

“Yes, well, we’ve still got some dinosaurs like you roaming around this place. Wouldn’t be a government agency without paperwork, now, would it?”

Bond chuckled. “Guess not.” 

“Well. You’re straight on the sunglasses, yeah? Better return them in one piece. This is a test run and I’m planning to use those as a prototype for the other 00’s.”

“I think I’ve got it. The old brain still has some memory banks left. I’ll be sure to check in with you when I’m back from Barcelona.” He turned to leave. “Oh, and Q?” he said, looking back at the quartermaster.

“Yes, 007?” Q looked as if Bond were nothing more than a pesky child interrupting his important business.

“I leave tomorrow.” He let that sink in for a moment. “I’ll try out the sunglasses and let you know if there are any problems, all right? Will you be reachable this evening?”

“Oh yes, I’ll probably be at home,” Q said. “Sounds good.” 

With a last look at Q’s inscrutable face, Bond left, quickly formulating a plan.

 

On the way home that night on the tube, Q pulled out his mobile and entertained himself with some word games. That was usually enough to pass the time until he reached his stop. There was track work that caused a delay, however, and his mind drifted. As the minutes ticked by, for the millionth time he thought about the scene with Bond and the younger man. He mentally replayed it in detail, savouring the moment when Bond plunged the other man’s cock into his mouth, how the younger man had twisted and writhed. The crowd of passengers faded away as he imagined the way that would feel, those powerful hands holding him down, Bond’s muscular bulk pressing against him, his mouth servicing Q’s every need. 

Q’s index finger played over the slick screen of the mobile. He knew he shouldn’t. It was a terrible idea to put the pictures on his phone at all. But he had. Was it any worse than what he’d already done? He was damned to hell already. His fingers flicked furtively as he gave in to the urge and navigated his way into the secret file. He turned the screen so it was more difficult for others to see, looking around first to make sure nobody was paying attention. It was the London underground though. Even if anyone saw anything, they’d probably just roll their eyes. But one never knew.

Installing the surveillance system and catching Bond having sex again hadn’t excorcised his obsession. On the contrary, it was worse than ever. Finding out that Bond was bisexual had changed everything.

He tapped open the first image he’d saved from the surveillance footage of Bond’s flat. There were more than twenty altogether. He’d gone over the video so many times he’d practically memorised the sequence of events. But the first was still his favourite. In it, Bond was up on his knees straddling the younger man, who was lying face up on the bed. The younger man’s cock was buried in Bond’s meaty arse, his fingers clutching the firm globes of muscle, the two of them working each other’s hips up and down, pounding together in a frenzy. Bond’s defined deltoids and the perfect triangle of his torso were on full show, curving down to his trim hips and gorgeous arse as he rode the other man. The sound of their slapping flesh had been visceral and thrilling; the sight of the man’s cock sliding up into Bond’s arse had sent Q right over the edge. 

Q sank into the memory, staring at his mobile. He clung tightly to the pole, his hand getting slick with sweat and his knees feeling wobbly. He wished he could lean against it but there wasn’t enough room with so many other passengers’ hands on it. 

He flicked to the next still. This was the one where Bond was sucking the other man’s cock. It looked so fucking big, sliding into Bond’s mouth, spreading his lips wide. The sight was one of the hottest things Q had ever seen. Here, the younger man was sitting on edge of the bed and Bond was kneeling on the floor, so his face was visible. The younger man was leaning back on his arms, his hips canted upward into Bond’s mouth. You could see Bond’s shoulders, the line of his arms, the flex of his biceps. The man was like sculpture. It was almost unreal.

The train jerked into motion and Q looked up with a start. He’d been completely immersed and it took a moment to return to reality. He shifted his shoulder bag to hide his erection and concentrated on slowing his breathing. 

The train moved smoothly to the next stop without interruption. When the doors opened, the passengers struggled to get out before the oncoming crowd surged in. Q held his things close to his body, but kept the mobile out in case he wanted to look at it some more, pressing the screen to his chest.

“Why, Q, they let you out before midnight?” A low voice spoke in Q’s ear. Q immediately flushed hot over his entire body and shoved the mobile into his bag. Fuck.

“Bond,” he said. What damnable luck. “Stooping to public transport?” Bond’s distinctive aftershave filled Q’s nose, doing nothing to quell his erection.

“I do slum occasionally,” Bond said with a smirk. His voice recalled the low murmurs Q had heard on the surveillance tape and the younger man’s answering laugh. Q quickly shut down that memory and let his gaze wander over Bond. He was wearing a silver grey suit and a sapphire-coloured tie that brought out his eyes. He looked particularly imposing and dangerous in the work-a-day environment of the tube. Like a shark on holiday. With Q as the bait.

“Going home?” Bond continued.

“Take a guess.” For some reason, he didn’t like to give Bond any information about himself. 

“I don’t know what young people get up to these days. An internet café perhaps?”

“Now you’re just being silly.” 

Bond grinned knowingly. The train squealed to a sudden stop, flinging Q into Bond. His hand shot out to stop his fall and he found himself gripping Bond’s solid shoulder. Had they ever touched before? Q couldn’t remember. He looked at Bond, momentarily paralysed by the feel of his body, the one he’d been obsessively and secretly watching for what seemed like forever. He removed his hand and put it back on the strap of his bag. “Sorry, Bond.” 

He tried to recover his composure. His failure to let go of the touch quickly enough perhaps gave too much away, although the lurch of the train could explain things. He searched Bond’s face for any clue to his reaction, but there was only a quirk to his mouth that could have meant he was bemused by Q’s clumsiness, or that he knew Q was in the grip of a serious sexual obsession and his hand felt like it had been burned by the mere touch of Bond’s suit-clad shoulder.

Q switch his stare to Bond’s tie, but he didn’t really see it. Bond was too close, his physical presence too vivid. Q longed for the distance of the surveillance recording. They swayed with the motion of the train as it got going again. Their hands were next to each other on the pole and Bond’s slid down a bit so it touched Q’s. Neither of them visibly reacted. 

Just as the train pulled into Q’s station, it lurched again. This time Bond’s hand ended up on Q’s chest, a solid wave of warmth through the layers of Q’s clothes. Q reminded himself that he wasn’t actually having a heart attack. A man was accidentally touching his chest, that was all. Who cared if it was MI6’s most dangerous spy, a man who exuded sex appeal with the ease of breathing? A man whom Q had secretly watched having sex with another man and was now apparently hideously obsessed with? 

I’m completely doomed, he thought, as the doors finally opened and Bond removed his hand. Q could feel the weight of Bond’s eyes on him like an iceberg - one in which a flame burned at its heart, both hot and cold at the same time. 

“I’ll let you know if there are any problems with the item you gave me,” Bond said. 

“Yes, yes,” Q said in a hurry, eager to get away from Bond’s intense presence. He stepped out of the train and made his way to the stairs in the throng of commuters, feeling that icy burn on his back the whole way. 

He comforted himself with the thought that he still had one more evening to observe Bond at a safe, impersonal distance before he left for Barcelona.

 

When Bond got to his flat, he made quick work of getting into Q’s mobile, which he’d filched in the tube. He’d have to have words with Q about his lax security. Bond had been close on Q’s heels when he’d left work for the tube. He got on the train in a different car and surreptitiously watched Q through the window. Then he’d gotten off, switched to a different line, and re-embarked on Q’s train to appear as if he’d just arrived, catching Q completely off-guard. 

Bond pondered passwords and tried to dredge up everything he’d ever absorbed about hacking from hanging out in Q Section. After some deep concentration and a few flicks of his finger, Bond discovered exactly what Q had been up to. 

Q had saved an entire file of photos of Bond and the young man from the other night, taken with the camera in Bond’s bedroom. They appeared to be stills from video. All very explicit. Bond was shocked. Every idea that he had ever had about Q was turned upside-down. This was beyond kinky, in Bond’s view; a horrible invasion of his privacy. 

Bond was used to being watched. There were times when he assumed everything he did was being observed and recorded by _someone_. He’d been caught in compromising positions by enemy agents with photographs of himself in various intimate situations. They all wanted to destroy Bond or manipulate him for their own ends. This was different: Q was a colleague, for god’s sake, with whom Bond joked about having spots. A genius with tech, but still wet behind the ears. Bond had thought him an innocent, hiding behind his computers and equipment, happily playing with his toys. 

Playing, yes, but not so innocently. He was using Bond’s private life for his own sick perversions. 

Bond ran through his options: he could notify M, demand that Q be fired immediately, or even bring up charges with the police. If Q found out that Bond knew about the camera, however, he’d probably find some way to remove it as soon as possible. Moreover, Bond didn’t relish these photos being passed around MI6 or the police. He felt his reputation was secure, but someone might try to make hay out of the photos for political gain, and once something like this got out, it was difficult to control. He didn’t fancy his naked arse plastered all over the Daily Mail or the Sun. And the young man with whom he’d dallied that night was an innocent party who hadn’t asked to get caught up in the complications of a secret agent’s life.

No, it was probably best to keep this matter closer to the breast. Bond’s mind whirled with possible plans.

 

By the time he reached his own stop, Bond knew what he was going to do. He had a pleasant dinner at his favourite local bistro - moules marinières, hold the frites - with a half carafe of Bordeaux to take the edge off. He returned to his flat and poured himself a cognac, changed into track bottoms and a black t-shirt, then did a few pull-ups out of sight of the camera to make his biceps pop.

As he made his preparations, Bond contemplated the new side of Q that he’d discovered. He was fond of Q and enjoyed their banter. These darker depths were intriguing, if horrifying. Q liked to watch and Bond was going to take full advantage of it.

He settled on the bed with his cognac and a movie, propped up by plenty of pillows. Although aware of the camera’s eye on him, he made sure not to look in its direction. He used the cognac to relax, sipping it slowly, just enough to let its soothing warmth glide down his throat and spread through his limbs. 

He’d picked a French movie. He let the sibilant sounds of the language wash over him like waves, evoking gentle winds through the palm trees of Cannes or Nice. There was a slowness to the images and dialogue that was comforting yet seductive. It put him in the right frame of mind for his evening’s project.

About halfway through the movie, he felt enough time had elapsed. He changed out the French film for something more pornographic.

 

Q had been rattled by the encounter with Bond on the tube. It had freaked him out when Bond suddenly showed up while Q was looking at pictures of him having sex. Then to hear his voice close in his ear, smell his scent, feel the body under the clothes -- it was too intense, too real.

As soon as he got home, he shed his work clothes and took a shower, then ran some gel through his hair so it wouldn’t be a complete disaster in the morning. Then he changed into a pair of blue sleep bottoms and grey t-shirt. He was a bit chilly so he also put on a University of London sweatshirt. He grabbed some sandwich makings out of the fridge and gulped down a turkey sandwich while pouring a glass of sauvignon blanc. 

After all that, he felt better. Time to check in on Bond. Q woke up his computer and logged into the surveillance program.

Bond was already in bed. He must have been tired. Q could hear French coming from the TV. Bond occasionally chuckled and sipped from a glass that appeared to have brandy or cognac. Q admired the fit of his black t-shirt, the way it clung to his muscular frame. Q drank his wine and felt a sizzle of excitement in the pit of his stomach.

For awhile, Q was surprisingly entertained just observing Bond lie in bed watching TV. He was fascinated by the subtle changes in his expression, the small shifts of his body, such as the stretch of his arm when he retrieved his glass and lifted it to his lips. Q found himself imitating his motions, lifting his glass when Bond did and feeling the wine go down his throat as Bond swallowed. It was a strange sensation, to be with him in a sense, but not. Like some perverted date.

Bond abruptly got up and walked over to the television. He put in a DVD, refilled his glass, then returned to the bed and sank down into the sheets with a lazy tug to his limbs. Soon Q could hear cheesy dialogue and other indicators of bad production values. Good lord, he was watching porn. Q perked up. Was Bond glancing at the camera? He couldn’t be sure, it happened too quickly. Q gulped some wine and leaned in closer to the monitor, his heart rate accelerating. Sure enough, he heard moaning and groaning from the television, skin smacking together, and encouraging phrases. 

Bond slid his hand under his waistband down to his crotch, as Q held his breath. There was no one else this time. Just Bond. And Q watching.

 

Bond couldn’t help flicking a glance toward the camera before he slid his hand under his waistband and down toward his crotch. He knew, without a doubt now, that Q was watching on the other side. 

With that in mind, he slid farther down on the bed and took hold of his cock. One part of him watched the movie, letting the images and sounds drive his arousal, but another part maintained its focus on Q. The blokes in the film were naked by now and one was sucking the other’s cock, his big hands spread on the other man’s thighs, his mouth stretched tight around his garishly large cock.

He thought about what Q’s cock might look like. Q was slender and lithe. He looked good in a suit. Bond would take him apart, bit by bit, like dismantling a complicated piece of machinery to get at the inner workings, to find out what made it tick. He’d flick apart those little buttons on his cardigan, ever so slowly, then slide his hand all along Q’s slim torso down to his hips. He pictured Q’s body as neat and tidy, perhaps with a smattering of dark hair on his legs and chest, but not too much.

Bond tightened his hand on his cock and began to jerk it up and down, feeling the burn of excitement kindle in his groin. He bet Q was good at sucking cock. He’d purse his lips as if it were faintly distasteful, but then he’d take off those glasses and open those ruddy lips and close them on Bond’s cock with a vacuum-like suction.

His hand rubbed faster. His cock was hard and full now.

Q’s face would get flushed. Maybe his floppy hair would get a little sweaty on his forehead. Excited little noises would emerge from his throat. Bond could feel his fingers clutching Q’s pert little arse. He’d arch his hips up into Q’s mouth when he couldn’t restrain himself any more.

He wasn’t even looking at the television screen any more. Bond’s eyes were closed as he fisted his cock hard and fast, feeling his desire beginning to crest.

Q would look up at him as he sucked, dark eyes even darker than usual, heavy-lidded with arousal, his lips tight and perfect around Bond’s erection. Bond could see it in full detail in his mind’s eye and the expression he envisioned on Q’s face brought him to completion, come spurting heavily onto his thighs. He lay back, limp and sated, as his heart slowed and he caught his breath.

He opened his eyes and turned deliberately toward the camera before reaching for the tissues on the side of his bed and slowly wiping up the come. He kept his eyes locked on the camera the entire time. When he was done, he tossed the tissues in the bin, juggled his jog bottoms off his ankles, then got up and sauntered into the toilet fully naked. Before moving out of camera range, he looked over his shoulder at the camera and gave a small little grin.

 

Q collapsed heavily in his chair, staring at the screen, ten pound weights pulling down his limbs. It took a moment to catch his breath after his orgasm. Watching Bond wank was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. And damn it all if Bond didn’t know. Until the very end, Q hadn’t been sure. But then Bond looked at the camera directly. That couldn’t be a coincidence. On the way to the toilet, he’d looked again, very directly at the camera. Somehow Bond had divined that a camera had been placed in his bedroom. Why he wasn’t calling MI6 in to dismantle the thing, Q had no idea. Q might have to sneak in there and retrieve it tomorrow.

Bond’s expression as he walked to the toilet had been unexpectedly coy. He was playing with him, or with whoever he thought was watching. And he seemed to be enjoying it. Q’s body buzzed with an intangible excitement. 

Q thought back to their encounter on the tube. Then he leaped up to look for his mobile.

 

“You bastard,” Q blurted the moment he knew no one else was on the comms. He’d just spent three sweat-soaked hours guiding Bond through the narrow alleys of one of the few old neighbourhoods left in Shanghai. The trade-off with the target almost fell through, but Q had provided Bond with some new information just in time to convince their source everything was on the up and up. Q was bone-weary and not in the mood for games. And yet he needed to have it out with Bond, get everything out in the open, much as he feared what might happen as a result.

Bond’s expression was enigmatic as he leaned against a crumbling wall watching the clean-up ops do their thing. He was a cheetah at rest, coiled and at attention under a surface of calm. HIs lip curled just slightly, in that arrogant way of his that said he knew the devastatingly attractive picture he painted and he could snap your neck in two before you could say ‘pretty, please.’ “What?” he said innocently.

“You stole my mobile. And why do you look like you were just dressed by your valet whilst I look like I’ve been on a week-long bender?” That last was because he was feeling pissy and needed tea. And it was probably true, he thought, pulling randomly at his hopeless hair.

“Can’t answer the second question. It’s possibly generational. As for the first, my counter would be that you put a camera in my bedroom.”

There it was.

Q decided to chance it. “You like it.”

A beat.

“Maybe.” Bond’s voice was a low vibration in Q’s ear, a thread of sensuality shot through it. Bond smirked. 

Q looked around his section for observers. This was getting into uncharted territory. Frankly, he didn’t know if he had the presence of mind to deal with this right now, but there wasn’t anything for it but to press forward. There might not be another opportunity like this.

“Bond.”

“Yes, Q.” The man looked so nonchalant, utterly sanguine. It was maddening and exciting at the same time.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Since you’re not needed there any more...” Q quickly scanned the immediate area for a suitable spot for what he had in mind, fingers dancing on the keyboard. “I’d like you to make your way around the corner.”

At Bond’s puzzled expression, he added, “There’s a CCTV there that might need some maintenance. You should check it out. It looks like an area that’s rather deserted.”

“Ah. Not setting up an ambush to recapture your mobile, are you?”

“You mean the one that self-destructed within ten minutes of your accessing its contents? No. What I have in mind is something you’ll enjoy. Something we’ll both enjoy.” At least Q was betting that Bond would enjoy it.

“I see. Well, I did wonder what that fizzing sound was.” Bond began moving.

“Go round the corner and you’ll see the back of a bank branch.”

“Yes. Going there now.”

Q found the CCTV feed from the back of the bank and Bond appeared in view shortly. 

“Where’s the camera?” Bond asked, looking around.

“Across the alley, above that loading dock, upper left hand corner.”

Bond’s eyes roamed until they found the camera. “Ah,” he said. “There you are.”

“Yes, here I am.” It had a curious ring of vulnerability. Q ignored the niggle of discomfort at openly acknowledging their connection. It was all in the open now. He was about to step into an empty elevator shaft.

Bond slipped into a niche in the wall. He leaned against it casually with one hand in his trouser pocket and one foot crossed over the other. In the down-at-heels atmosphere of the alley, he looked completely out of place. It highlighted his attractiveness. 

Bond took his hand out of his pocket and leaned back against the wall. “Well. Now what? You’ve got me where you want me, I take it.” 

Yes, I do, Q thought. “Just a moment.” Q focused on Bond’s hand, curved at rest at the top of his trouser zip. The grey trousers fell in a classic line, but with a slim cut that showed off Bond’s assets. Q hit the button to zoom in. Bond’s hands fascinated him. On the one hand, they were brutal instruments, capable of deadly violence. On the other, he’d seen them during sex, teasing and tantalising, sensual. That fascinating cocktail of danger and pleasure that Bond represented was devastating. 

His hand was curled, the fingers loose enough to indicate ready to spring into action at any moment. 

“Undo your trouser button.” 

“Is that how it’s going to go, then?” 

“Yes, it is. You’re used to taking my direction, after all.” 

Bond laughed, then he fingered the button at the top of his trousers, taunting. Q zoomed in further so he could see every detail. Bond slowly slipped the button out of the buttonhole. Q’s mouth went dry. 

“Are you watching, Q?” Bond smirked.

“Oh yes.”

“I know you like to watch.” Bond licked his lips. Q’s gaze flicked from the ice blue eyes down to the hand on the waistband and back. 

“Now pull down the zip.” Q tried not to let his voice betray his nervousness. By this point, Bond was probably used to the sound of Q’s voice, so he could detect slight variations in his tone. Q wanted to maintain full control. 

Bond palmed himself briefly before pulling down the head of the zip, teasingly slow. It had its intended effect on Q, who pulled his chair further under his desk, looking around self-consciously.

Q said quietly, “Put your hand down your pants.” Bond obediently slipped his hand down his trousers and worked it down into his crotch. Q could see the outline of his cock, his hand gripping it. The image of Bond there, touching himself for Q’s delectation, sent a live wire of desire through his body. He could hear Bond’s breath catching hard as his hand moved.

“I need to see more,” Q ventured. “Push your trousers down a bit.” 

“Demanding, aren’t you.” But Bond complied, wiggling his trousers down on his hips to make more room for his hand and giving Q a view of his muscled lower abdomen. His cock was getting bigger. “How’s this?” Bond asked, caressing himself, his hand moving steadily up and down. His eyelids lowered.

Q swallowed. Sweat broke out on his forehead. “Good, Bond, that’s good,” he managed to say. His stomach clenched in a moment of panic - someone might see, or worse _interrupt_ \- but it would take an apocalypse to tear him away from the computer right now. “Keep going. This is perfect.”

Bond’s hand squeezed. His body curled in on itself as he became more excited. Q could hear his breath coming faster.

Q tried to calm his own breathing. His hand tightened on his mug handle. “Let’s see everything. Pull your pants and trousers down to your knees.” Q’s voice was barely a whisper. “I want to see more skin.” 

Bond’s eyes opened. He hesitated for a moment, then shimmied his trousers and pants down closer to his knees. Q could see his cock flushed and swollen, clutched in Bond’s powerful hands. Q went from dry mouth to salivating. “That’s good.” Bond’s thigh muscles were powerful and defined. They flexed and hardened as Bond worked his cock, getting increasingly excited.

Time to make the game more interesting. “You know something else I’d like to see? I want to see you finger yourself.”

Bond gave a little smile through his pants. “Ah,” he said, nodding. “All right.”

Then he did it. He reached behind himself and felt around. Q could see the moment Bond penetrated himself, his face crinkling with the effort.

“You’re doing it,” Q said, pleased.

Bond made an inarticulate noise. He worked himself front and back now, leaning against the rough brick wall. His immaculate black suit crumpled around his knees and his full, thick cock jutted out from his jacket and shirt. Q flushed hot all over.

He held a hand over his mouth, and said in a hoarse whisper, barely able to speak, “Fuck yourself for me, Bond.”

Bond stripped his cock faster and faster with one hand, while he worked the other one into his arse, his body crooked at an angle as he approached orgasm. The only sound was Bond panting and groaning. 

“Do you like that, Bond? Do you like having something shoved in your arse?” Q murmured.

Bond moaned, a hand pistoning into his arse, his grip tight on his glistening, flushed cock.

The air seemed to thin around Q. His head spun. His cock swelled painfully against his clothes. He leaned down further in his desk chair, stomach shoved up against the desk edge to hide his arousal. “Come for me now, Bond. I want to see it. I want to see you spurt your come all over that fancy suit.”

“Yeah,” Bond groaned just before climaxing. Foamy white come erupted over his hand, dripping down his cock. Q suppressed his own moan, practically biting his tongue with the effort. He slipped a hand under the desk to press against his hidden erection, squeezing it to stave off a public disaster. He felt like his head was about to blow off with the pressure of his arousal. 

“God, Q,” Bond said quietly, his head lolling against the wall. “What are you doing to me?” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped himself off, then got his clothes back together. He wiped a hand over his face before turning again to the camera.

“I could say the same, Bond. I could say the same.”

 

Sometime over the next few days, allowing Bond enough time to return to London and recover from jet lag and his mission, Q made a trip to a certain discrete specialty store. He perused the items carefully, pausing to consider size and girth, texture and colour. He had his selection elegantly gift-wrapped, and sent it overnight. As he left the store, he felt light on his feet. Anticipation swirled through his veins. 

He was counting on Bond leaving the camera in his bedroom intact.

Waiting for the package to be delivered, Q was awash with pinpricks of excitement. At work, he was agitated and couldn’t concentrate. He obsessively checked the delivery tracking. His stomach ached from drinking too many cups of tea. 

 

Bond received the package at seven p.m. the next day. He signed for it, then passed a sensor over it to make sure it wasn’t a bomb. One never knew. When he opened it, he found a teal blue box emblazoned in silver with the name of one of London’s more posh sex shops. The box was filled with lime green tissue paper. 

_Q._ He chuckled, then flushed with arousal at the memory of what had happened in Shanghai. Bond had been with many beautiful women and a few men, but he’d never quite experienced that scenario before. Usually he was the one in charge. Letting Q take over had been an intriguing turn of events. Danger was Bond’s life blood, but he’d never ventured into the territory to which Q had led him. Q’s low voice over the comm, murmuring sexual demands after the hours of tension during the mission; the sharp-edged peril of discovery; the images of Q in his mind, stripped and greedy and devouring: it had all coalesced into a perfect storm of erotic stimulation. He’d gotten off more powerfully than he could ever recall.

Before he had a chance to unwrap the box, his mobile made the sound that indicated a text had arrived. He flicked the screen open.

_Have you received the package?”_ a text from an unknown mobile read.

_Yes, Q,_ Bond typed in reply.

_Have you opened it?_

_Not yet._

_Go to your bedroom and open it. And how do you know this is Q?_

Bond’s mouth slid into a small grin. _The world’s most dangerous secret agent, remember?_ , he typed. Then he tucked the box under his arm, bringing his phone with him. He pulled off his tie as he made his way into the bedroom, eager to see what was in the box. After he’d sat on the bed and put the box down, his mobile buzzed again. 

_After you’ve opened it, take off your clothes, get on the bed and call me._

Bond’s heart sped up. Heady with anticipation, he pushed aside the tissue paper in the box. When he saw what was in it, his stomach flipped. It was a large pale, flesh-coloured dildo. Other than the size, it was quite realistic. Bond’s mouth dried thinking about what Q wanted him to do with it. His experience in this area was limited and he had never been penetrated before. Fingering himself for Q in the alleyway had been the first time he’d done that to himself. 

He touched the dildo, drawing his fingers down its length. It was spongy, but taut. Well made. Only the best for Q. He took it out of the box and laid it on the bed, contemplating the undeniable fact that he was actually prepared to do this. Q had cleared the way for him to experience something he hadn’t even realised he’d wanted, cross a frontier he hadn’t even had in his sights. Anticipation fizzed under his skin.

He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth and washed up. He took off his clothes and methodically hung them up, not rushing. Looked at himself in the mirror for a moment and brushed a hand over his nipples so they hardened. He emptied his mind of all but the challenge ahead of him, drawing on the same focus he used during missions. Then he emerged from the bathroom.

He waited a moment before raising his eyes to the camera, standing there motionless, the air heavy around him. He leaned over to the bed, picked up the phone and dialed.

Q breathed at him over the connection, then said, “I hope you like your gift.”

Bond flicked his eyes up to the camera again and took a deep breath. “You’re quite confident in me, aren’t you? Not the usual sort of thing one expects to receive from the quartermaster.”

“No. Probably not,” Q agreed. “But then, I’m not the usual sort of quartermaster, am I? So you said the first time we met.”

“Apparently I had no idea how accurate that was. You’re quite a surprise, Q.”

Q chuckled lowly. “As are you. Bond. You’ve quite the penchant for performance.”

“Hmmm.” Bond arched his back slightly. “I suppose I do. In select situations.”

“Excellent. Get on the bed.” Q’s voice had an impatient edge. He was eager.

Bond tapped the icon to make the phone a speaker, then pushed himself up on the bed toward the pillows. His duvet was a deep shade of blue, smooth under his skin. His fingers shook as he pulled the phone closer. A well of excitement quivered deep inside.

“Now. You’ll find under your gift a bottle of lube. Why don’t you take it out?”

Bond fished under the dildo and found it. He was already getting hard.

“Please put some on your cock.”

Bond flipped the top and squeezed out a good portion into his palm.

“All over it.”

He lay back, gripped his cock and spread the lube over it, lavishing it on the tip and down its length. Q murmured a few things about Bond’s cock, about how he liked its shape, how big it would get, how it would taste. The praise and attention fueled Bond’ excitement.

“I aim to please,” Bond said, his breath already short. He made everything slick, fingers sliding freely over his skin, rolling his balls until they were tight and hard. 

“Are you feeling good now?” Q asked. “I think you are. It looks like you are. You probably like to fuck with that prodigious cock. But today you don’t get to fuck anybody. Instead you’re going to fuck yourself.”

“I do have a very nice cock,” Bond agreed. “Everyone seems to like it.” He winked at the camera, squeezing his cock, twisting it. Q continued to give him instructions, telling him how to place his hands, encouraging him in certain directions. The sensations built; his muscles grew tense with arousal. Q’s voice danced around him, its vibrations pulling him this way and that as he lost himself in his excitement.

Bond groaned, pulling on his cock with abandon. It was slick with the lube and his own pre-come now. He traced the vein on the underside, the sensitive spot, slipped more pre-come over it. The room became musky with the scent of his arousal.

Finally Q told him to take the dildo out of the box. “Feel it. Think about its texture. Think about how it will feel inside of you. I chose it myself after much consideration. I felt it was something you’d like. And I wanted to be the first person to see you use it. To see you fuck yourself with it. I’m watching you right now. Do you like that?”

“Yes, Q,” Bond whispered, his eyes clenched, his mind full of Q’s disembodied voice and image, so far yet so close. He was looking at Bond right now, behind that camera, behind his computer as always. Bond could picture him now, his wiry, charismatic presence, his crazy hair like a bird taking flight, his flickering intelligent eyes bathed in brown warmth. Eyes that saw everything.

“Where are you, Q?” he wondered aloud, wanting to place the man in a physical way.

Q hesitated. “I’m in my bedroom.”

“Are you in bed? Are you naked?”

“This is about you, not me. But if you really want to know, yes, I’m naked.” Bond could hear him clearing his throat. “Please take out the dildo now.” 

Bond imagined Q lying splayed on his bed, slender limbs strained with excitement. Bond took the dildo out of the box of crinkly tissue paper. After a moment, he reached for the lube, spread some more on his fingers and reached behind himself.

“Oh, very good, Bond. You knew exactly what I was going to tell you to do next.”

Bond quirked his lips. Yes, he was being a good little boy for Q. He rolled to the side and kept one hand on his erection while delicately exploring his hole with the other, smoothing the way with the lube. 

“How’s it feel?”

“Interesting. Different. Better with lube.”

“Mmm, yes.”

Bond pricked up his ears. If he wasn’t mistaken, Q was doing something similar on his end. He grinned. 

“Take your time. Get used to the feeling.” There was a little lurch to the last words. Perhaps Q was getting used to the feeling himself.

Bond’s fingers grew more confident. He tentatively wiggled one inside the taut opening. The lube helped make it more soft and giving than it had been the other day, when he had really just entered the opening. Tonight would be different. Tension arced through his body as he adjusted to the discomfort. He eyed the dildo and wondered how he could possibly get it all inside him.

“That’s it. Just imagine what you’ll be feeling when that dick hits the sweet spot, my most dangerous secret agent. You’ll be in heaven.” 

“You’re sure of that?” Bond gritted out, not at all used to the feeling of an object in his arsehole. He knew it could be enjoyable but the reality seemed daunting.

“I speak from personal knowledge.”

“Ah.” The image of Q spread out for him, Bond’s cock lined up against his entrance, was enticing, and it spurred him on to work his finger further inside. He rode the wave of desire created by that image, his eyes clenched shut, trying to find the sensation that would pull him over the discomfort and into pleasure.

Q talked him through more preparations, slowly easing additional fingers in, his tone coaxing Bond to relax into the novel feeling. “There you go. Now let’s move on to my gift, shall we?”

Bond had a moment of doubt, feeling like this whole venture was possibly a grand mistake. But he’d faced down some of the most evil villains of the modern age. He could certainly master inserting a fake penis into himself. What’s more, something about this process was making him crave Q’s approval. He found himself longing to hear the note of satisfaction in Q’s voice. He wanted to please him. That’s what it was. In the same way that he tried to please every lover he took, anticipating their needs and doing his utmost to divine their particular likes and dislikes. He never liked to leave anyone dissatisfied in the bedroom. He wanted his partners to think of him with, well, awe, to be perfectly honest. And he generally succeeded. 

He felt he’d achieved this goal thus far with Q. He’d hooked him somehow, without even trying, and every step had brought them closer. He’d always had a penchant for display, although usually of a more restrained variety. Never an agent who blended into the background, he had no qualms about confronting things directly and taking them on. There was something about Q that brought this out in him, made him want to bend rules and blast through boundaries.

“You would have to get the biggest one, wouldn’t you?” Bond said, reaching for the box and taking out the dildo.

“You’ve clearly never been to a sex shop,” Q replied with a snicker.

“I generally like to do things the old-fashioned way.” Bond hefted the toy in his palm. Good lord. It was amazingly realistic. He wondered if Q had chosen it for its similarity to his own genitalia. Now that was an interesting thought. His mind jumped to a vision of Q draped on top of him, rutting, his lanky limbs caging Bond and making him bend to his pleasure. His cock swelled at the thought. He grabbed the lube and began coating the dildo with it. It dripped on his luxury sheets.

“Nice job, Bond. You read my mind, yet again.”

Bond quirked his mouth. He’d always been adept at anticipating orders. “What would you like me to do now?,” he asked, judging the dildo to be adequately slippery. He slid his fingers down its length, gripping its circumference. It seemed impossibly thick and long. 

“What do you think?” Q asked, his voice husky.

“Ah. Well.” 

Q talked him through it. After the initial shock of its size pressing against his entrance, they worked together to get it through the tight sphincter and into the canal. Bond had never felt anything like it before. It was a curious sensation, to be so filled up. Q’s voice lilted into his head as he panted through the process, lying on his side and reaching behind to push the dildo in. Things got dark around the edges as the dildo pressed deeper inside, wringing intense sensation from him. He could hear a new tension in Q’s voice. He mentally grasped at the voice as the only thing tethering him to reality. With another push, he felt a flash of intense pleasure that sent sparks up his spine. 

“You got it, didn’t you? The sweet spot,” Q said breathily.

“Yes,” Bond gasped. He twisted the dildo, desperate to keep contact with that spot. He almost blacked out from the intensity. “Oh god, Q.”

“Yessss,” Q’s voice hissed from the tiny speaker next to Bond’s ear. 

“I can’t...you...” Bond rasped, beyond words.

There were only garbled sounds from Q in response.

Bond’s hand was moving quickly on his cock now, the panoply of feelings overwhelming. He had the dildo all the way in now and he couldn’t believe he’d done it. It felt impossibly huge and yet marvelous at the same time. He moved it slightly, pressing against his prostate so that exquisite feeling spread up his torso and straight to his cock. He felt close now. At this moment, he wished Q were here in person because words were inadequate. 

“I’m...I’m,” he tried to express himself verbally, but it was difficult. He wanted to concentrate on the physical, his cock and his ass, the bulky dildo inside him provoking the most exquisite sensations. He could hear Q breathing harshly.

“Go ahead,” Q said, giving him permission to let go and do what he needed to. He did, closing his eyes to the wave of sensation that enveloped him, front to back, the dildo piercing him to his very core, touching him in a way he’d never quite been touched before sexually. Somehow the act of intrusion felt fundamentally different, the way his prostate was massaged by the dildo absolutely nothing like fucking a woman, or fucking a man, or having his cocked sucked. He felt a strange sense of permission, of being able to let go and just feel, that he’d never before felt. 

Q was now grunting, probably getting off himself. Bond could vaguely hear him saying things about how beautiful he was, how hot. He let the words wash over him.

Within moments he could feel his orgasm building, from the very deepest core of him, the dildo throbbing into his being, his hand moving insistently on his cock, grasping and pulling out sweet rushes of feeling. “Q, I’m close,” he forced himself to say, not even sure he was articulating the words properly, so far gone was he.

All he got in response was a vaguely formed “uh-huh,” the phone line whispering Q’s excitement just as Bond’s hand and breath and thrusting hips were expressing his.

Finally a forceful orgasm wrenched Bond over the edge into a moment of oblivion. He lay still, panting, the dildo still implanted deep within him, feeling the sweet pulses fade away, his body clenched tightly around it. He could imagine how intimate it would be with another person. He couldn’t move. Q’s sounds rose and fell near his ear, a tightening gyre of gasps and groans, culminating in a powerful grunt as he came, then fell silent except for his harsh breathing.

“Bond.” A whisper.

“Q.” A whisper back. Bond clutched at the phone. He thought about pulling out the dildo, but decided to wait for Q.

“You can pull it out now,” Q finally supplied.

Bond did so with a groan. He knew he’d be sore tomorrow, but he dismissed it. Wasn’t like it was a bullet wound. He rolled over onto his back and grabbed for some tissues to clean himself up. He’d change the sheets later, after Q had signed off. He glanced up at the camera. “Are you still there, Q?”

“Oh yes. Just recovering.”

“Me too. I wish I could see you. You know there’s this thing called Skype.”

Q laughed. “I’ve heard of it.” He paused. “Bond. Thank you. That was amazing.”

This time Bond laughed, stretching his sore muscles. “I should thank you. You have hidden talents in the sex education arena.”

“Entirely self-interested, I assure you.”

Bond curled up with the phone next to his head, a rough facsimile of cuddling. “You should be here, you know.”

Q sighed. “Maybe. Are you sure?”

“Sometimes you have to step out from behind the computer, Q. Sometimes the trigger has to be pulled in person.”

“Ah, yes, so you’ve told me before.”

“Don’t you think that would be better in this instance?” Bond asked.

“Possibly. I wouldn’t want my gift to go to waste though.”

Bond sniggered. “I have a feeling it’s going to become standard equipment on my missions, Q, if that’s any consolation.”

Q was silent for a moment. “Oh, it is, Bond, it is.”


End file.
